Droid101
First Post
Several Years Prior...
His eyes opened. He could see. Why? Why couldn’t he just be dead? Why couldn’t this life end? Why must he exist!?
He got up. He looked around. The adventuring party he had been traveling with was dead. Each of their bodies mangled and slashed beyond recognition. He looked down at his arms and his stomach. Still ripped and torn, but slowly healing.
He hated being undead. He hated his entire existence.
“Why didn’t it kill me…?” Bloodthorne asked, but nobody was around to hear him.
His weapons and all his magic items were gone, along with the rest of the party’s items.
“Great. Now I ‘ave to get out of this damned place with nothing!” Bloodthorne exclaims.
This was the fifth try at suicide. Well, legitimate try, that is.
Of course he had tried countless times before. He tried to cut off his own head. He tried to immerse himself in holy water. He ate holy wafers for a week, only to have to cut a hole in his stomach to empty the contents.
Then he started provoking people. He’d rush at a church, hoping they would turn him or banish him. Nothing worked. He remained alive. Alive for too long. He needed to die.
So then, he started to team up with random adventurers, hoping he could convince them to go and fight the most powerful beings that they could find, in hopes that they’d have some special method to kill him.
Of course, all five of these attempts had failed. After a brutal fight with a dragon, he woke up a few minutes later to see his comrades being eaten by the huge creature. He snuck off, hoping to try again with a different group, and a different monster.
Nothing. He was invincible. Every person’s dream was his nightmare. He couldn’t taste, couldn’t feel, couldn’t exist in any society. He just wanted to die.
“I guess divine intervention is my only ‘ope,” Bloodthorne talked to himself as he skipped out of the underground passage. “Now, I just gotta find a group of adventurers stupid enough to piss off a God…”
His eyes opened. He could see. Why? Why couldn’t he just be dead? Why couldn’t this life end? Why must he exist!?
He got up. He looked around. The adventuring party he had been traveling with was dead. Each of their bodies mangled and slashed beyond recognition. He looked down at his arms and his stomach. Still ripped and torn, but slowly healing.
He hated being undead. He hated his entire existence.
“Why didn’t it kill me…?” Bloodthorne asked, but nobody was around to hear him.
His weapons and all his magic items were gone, along with the rest of the party’s items.
“Great. Now I ‘ave to get out of this damned place with nothing!” Bloodthorne exclaims.
This was the fifth try at suicide. Well, legitimate try, that is.
Of course he had tried countless times before. He tried to cut off his own head. He tried to immerse himself in holy water. He ate holy wafers for a week, only to have to cut a hole in his stomach to empty the contents.
Then he started provoking people. He’d rush at a church, hoping they would turn him or banish him. Nothing worked. He remained alive. Alive for too long. He needed to die.
So then, he started to team up with random adventurers, hoping he could convince them to go and fight the most powerful beings that they could find, in hopes that they’d have some special method to kill him.
Of course, all five of these attempts had failed. After a brutal fight with a dragon, he woke up a few minutes later to see his comrades being eaten by the huge creature. He snuck off, hoping to try again with a different group, and a different monster.
Nothing. He was invincible. Every person’s dream was his nightmare. He couldn’t taste, couldn’t feel, couldn’t exist in any society. He just wanted to die.
“I guess divine intervention is my only ‘ope,” Bloodthorne talked to himself as he skipped out of the underground passage. “Now, I just gotta find a group of adventurers stupid enough to piss off a God…”